


Broken Like Me

by danvssomethingorother



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Alcohol, Injury, M/M, request fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danvssomethingorother/pseuds/danvssomethingorother
Summary: Brock gets injured and sees a different side of Rusty as he tries to take care of him.





	Broken Like Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deliriumbubbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriumbubbles/gifts).



“C'mon, look at me! Don’t close your eyes, okay?”

Brock shoved a hysterical and still very drunk Rusty Venture off him, he wasn’t really helping his new wound jostling his arm around like that.

There were better things he could be doing on a Saturday night, but it was just his luck he had to protect this idiot from yet another person he had pissed off.

Rusty had originally tried to claim how boring the gala would be, complaining the entire way there about it and hating with every fiber of his being he was obligated to go. Well he wasn’t wrong about it being boring, it was an art event, but Brock knew it wouldn’t remain that way watching Rusty hit the mini bar the second he walked through the door. Rusty plus excess amounts of liquor was never a good sign. 

That on top of the pills Rusty had shoved in his jacket before they left the compound was just a recipe for disaster.

It was worse now after learning the host of the event had a nasty temper towards anyone who dared criticize his art show. And Rusty loaded down on enough booze to knock anyone else out had to be the one to bring that side out of him with ‘constructive criticisms’ the host was being a ‘baby about’. Of course, he would have a hidden sword in his cane and of course Brock would have to do something stupid like throwing Rusty aside to take the damage.

After that all hell broke loose in the gala, it was almost like inviting every hero and villain alike into one area was going to blow up in your face and Brock Samson being stabbed was just the fuse that ignited that bomb.

Brock wasted no time in grabbing Rusty and dragging him away from the battle zone and shoving him into a supply closet, locking it behind him until everything calmed down enough for them to leave.

The wound looked nasty and the blade had destroyed his new suit, but he had worse in his life and had a very high tolerance to pain.

Rusty nearly tripped over himself in the dark, tight space to get close to the man, gently touching the wound. A shiver of pain traveled through the wound a moment, but Brock couldn’t bring himself to knock the man away, he just sighed and let him fret over it to keep him busy and out of trouble.

“Oh, my poor Brock, what did they do to you?”

His words were slurred and his actions were just as messy, trying unsuccessfully to yank off Brock’s jacket several times before Brock finally took pity on him and slid it off for him.

Brock rolled his eyes as Rusty rested his head on Brock’s chest and pressed his shaking hand against the bleeding injury, awkwardly slouched across his larger body guard’s lap.

“You saved my life…”

Gratitude laced through each word, a content smile on his lips looking more innocent then Brock had ever seen him.

“You didn’t even hesitate, you just took that for me…”

His shaking hand tightened its hold on his injured shoulder, he sloppily trailed kisses across Brock wherever he could reach.

“You are like an angel, my guardian angel…”

Maybe it was the blood loss, but Brock couldn’t bring himself to knock the man away, letting him continue to press awkward kiss after awkward kiss against him. 

On odd occasions after some of the more gruesome attempts at kidnapping and torturing Dr. Venture from some poor bastard wronged by a Venture, the two sometimes found themselves waking up shamefully in the other’s bed.

Neither had ever been for kisses or romance, it wasn’t about love, it was something that happened after the battle. Rusty always had a weird thing about being kidnapped and was always a little too willing to let Brock have his way while he was high on adrenaline still after the rush of a battle. 

He had never in all his years working for the man seen him try to take care of him, try to please him in anyway.

It was gentle and sweet and all the things Rusty wasn’t.

Maybe he had been, some time long before Brock had met him, before Jonas had tossed him to the wolves, before Myra’s abuse, before the many death of his sons’ but it still stood Brock had never seen it. Never seen him so eager to please him, desperate to show him he loved and appreciated him.

Yet here he was trailing kisses across him, gently pulling his shirt down to see his wound better and hissing loudly as though the site alone affected him. Blue eyes staring into his own filled with guilt that Brock was hurt at all.

Pressing unsteady fingers harder against the wound trying to cut off the blood flow from the stab wound, trying in vain to rip Brock’s shirt with his unsteady hand. Brock almost considered helping him with the task but was surprised to see him shimmy off his own purple jacket and press it against the wound, sloppily wrapping and tying it around the wound as if that would help anything.

“It will be ok, Brock,” he slurred hugging his midsection, the alcohol mixed with who knows what kind of pills he found laying around finally taking their toll, “You will be ok. I’ll fix this. I’ll make you all better once we can get out of here…”

Brock just sighed resting his larger hand on the man’s ever balding head trying to give him back some of the affection he was dealing out due to his intoxication.

“I love you Brock…”

Brock was taken back by the words but didn’t have time to comprehend them with Rusty crying against him now and Brock didn’t really know what to do about it.

“Please don’t think of leaving me…”

His plea was almost childish, his wound wasn’t as bad or deep as the man seemed to think it was, yet he was acting like he could fall over dead from it any moment, clinging tight to his bodyguard. 

Pitifully whispering apologies and begging him to forgive him for getting him in this mess.

Brock had never really found the man attractive, when they had sex it was primal, something just in the moment that they would never speak of again.

The way he was worrying and fussing over him didn’t really make him sexy like he thought of Mol, but it made him almost cute.

His behavior might have been only from the pills and booze and the strange feelings Brock was having may have only been coming from the slight blood loss, but he found himself pulling the man into a kiss. Nothing big or fancy or what most would consider romantic but a step up from their usual rough sex and shamefully avoiding each other’s eyes the next morning.

Something about this made Brock think maybe somewhere in him he did love this man and it wasn’t just about his job or just casual sex every now and then.


End file.
